


A Ratchet Christmas Carol

by Drazyrohk



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Charles Dickens - Freeform, Christmas Story, Fever Dreams, Gift Fic, Grumpy Ratchet, Merry Christmas!, Name Calling, gratuitous use of literary quotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5532578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drazyrohk/pseuds/Drazyrohk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet was not grumpy. He was not bitter. He certainly wasn't a bully! So he had a bad temper and sometimes he threw things at people who were bothering him while he was trying to work... what was everyone making such a fuss about?!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Ratchet Christmas Carol

**Author's Note:**

> This was the result of a Secret Santa gift exchange with one of my close friends. She loves G1 Ratchet, so I wanted to write her a Ratchet-centric, Christmas themed story!
> 
> Warnings:  
> Optimus Prime pretending to be Charles Dickens and using gratuitous quotes from A Christmas Carol.

It was rare for Wheeljack to be the target of Ratchet’s ire, but if the grumpy medic was turning his throwing arm and his seemingly endless supply of wrenches on the jovial and mild mannered engineer, it was time for everyone else to clear out. 

Sporting a dent on his helm and cowering like a whipped Earth canine, Wheeljack scurried away from the med bay while spouting apologies. His optics held an injured light that had nothing to do with his actual injury, the engineer retreating to Perceptor’s lab to get his helm fixed up and leaving Ratchet to his seething. 

In the med bay, Ratchet was standing over a failed batch of anti-viral nanites that he had been putting together after a rash of seasonal colds had broken out among the crew. The cold weather was wreaking havoc on their Cybertronian systems, and he had been working since the night before on this project. 

It wasn’t Wheeljack’s fault that the nanites were unusable, but the engineer had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Ratchet himself was feeling under the weather today, the project failing was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ratchet shook his head. He cleared away his work space, made sure he didn’t have any other patients to take care of, then called it a day. 

He’d sleep off this funk of his, then try again to make the anti-virus.

 

A light was flickering in his hab suite. Ratchet didn’t sleep with any light sources on, so it was odd to be woken up by one. He tried to get his optics to adjust to the dimness of his hab suite, pushing himself up on one elbow with a creak. 

There was a small figure, a minibot from the look of it, sitting on the floor. He was projecting something on the wall, and for a moment Ratchet was disoriented. The wall was bare… he had cupboards and a shelf along that wall to store the things he didn’t keep in his office or in the medical bay. That wall wasn’t supposed to be bare.

This wasn’t his hab suite, was it? If not, how in the world had he gotten here?

“The others haven’t shown up yet.” A familiar voice told him, the minibot turning his head to look in Ratchet’s direction. “But I figured we could start with something that’s just for you.” 

“Whassat?” Ratchet slurred, rubbing at his face and trying to work some of the grogginess out of himself. He seemed to be running a little warmer than normal, but that likely had something to do with being startled awake. 

“The movie!” The minibot turned fully to face him, a camera blinking on the side of his helm. The way his visor was lit and tilted, it seemed he was smiling. “Come over here and make yourself comfortable. I brought some of those jellies you like.” 

Frowning a little, Ratchet squinted. “Rewind?” He asked, the minibot giving him a nod and a further smile before patting the floor next to him. “Is this your hab suite?” 

“It is. This is where we have movie night Ratchet, don’t you remember?” Rewind laughed and gave his field a pulse of teasing disbelief, turning back to the wall and beginning to fiddle with his camera. 

Grumbling, Ratchet forced himself out of the berth and moved to sit heavily on the floor next to Rewind. He had no idea what was going on. He didn’t know that there were movie nights on the Ark or that they were held in Rewind’s hab suite. He didn’t know that Rewind even had a hab suite considering he and his brothers usually slept in their Carrier’s chest compartment like mini-cassettes ought to.

The scene currently displayed on the wall was familiar as well, and Ratchet frowned as he watched a younger version of himself speaking with the Archivist, Orion Pax. 

**“The medics were dead, to begin with.”**

Optimus’ voice was very distinct, and it issued forth from the recording Rewind played with conviction. 

“What? Optimus!” Ratchet bleated, Rewind hushing him. 

**“The medics were dead as a doornail, which is a curious turn of phrase. I have always meant to ask Wheeljack and Perceptor how a doornail could be dead when it was never a living thing to begin with. Unless of course, those Buddhist humans are correct and everything does indeed have a spirit, in which case it might be possible for a doornail to in fact be dead.”**

The Optimus on the recording was rambling as the real Optimus often did. Ratchet stared in bewilderment at the projection on the wall. He and Orion Pax parted ways and the recording seemed to follow Ratchet through Cybertronian streets until he reached the Dead End and his tiny clinic in Rodion.

**“Grumpiness was cheap, and Ratchet liked it. He worked in chambers that once belonged to his deceased partners. It was a dim and gloomy little clinic where Ratchet would assist the worst of the worst, the guttermechs of Cybertron, the leakers and skivs and addicts-”**

As Optimus’ voice droned on, Ratchet watched himself go about his business. He watched himself tend to wounded and afflicted mechs, and he watched himself occasionally beat them upside the head for being stupid or belligerent. He watched himself throw wrenches or other equipment and bodily remove people from the clinic. 

He couldn’t help thinking ‘it likely served them right,’ but for some reason his faceplates felt hot. It wasn’t embarrassment, he didn’t think it was at least. 

Rewind turned his head ever so slightly from time to time to look at him askance. Ratchet scowled, but said nothing.

The Ratchet in the recording retired for the evening, and for some reason it was snowing when he stepped outside the clinic. It didn’t snow on Cybertron. Sometimes it rained acid, but it never snowed. 

**“External heat and cold had little influence on Ratchet.”** Optimus continued as the recording of Ratchet went out of his way to kick a guttermech out of his path. A booster moved to beg him silently for something and Ratchet growled a dismissal before leaving the booster to sit in a snowbank, miserable and likely starving. **“No warmth could warm, no wintry weather could chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he-”**

Spluttering, Ratchet threw his hands in the air. “What is this?! This certainly never happened! And I am not bitter!” 

**“Ahem.”** Optimus said on the recording in an authoritative way. Ratchet blinked at the wall, brow arched. He was fairly sure that recordings couldn’t react in real time to people talking. **“As I was saying, no wind that blew was bitterer than he-”**

The door opened and a second minibot entered the hab suite, Rewind pausing the recording and standing to greet him. “You’re early.” He said, then for some reason, queued up a laugh track complete with applause.

The second minibot smiled broadly and held up a bowl full of energon goodies. “I know. I couldn’t wait. I brought snacks!” 

Ratchet recognized this mech as Swerve, whom he hadn’t seen in some time. Ratchet remembered vividly having to patch Swerve up after he was stepped on by a Combiner. 

“What part are we at?” Swerve asked, flopping down next to Ratchet and reaching across him to offer the bowl to Rewind. 

“No wind that blew was bitterer than he.” Rewind said, starting the recording again. Swerve offered energon goodies to Ratchet, who glared balefully at the cheerful minibot until he shrugged and kept them for himself. 

**“No falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty-”**

“Hey, Rewind?” Swerve said with his mouth full, looking across Ratchet at the mini-cassette. 

**“Oh! But he was a tight-fisted servo at the grindstone, Ratchet! a squeezing, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner!”**

“Yeah?” Rewind didn’t take his optics off the recording, which was now showing Ratchet tossing what appeared to be a wreath at a minibot that appeared to be singing. 

**“Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster.”**

“Don’t you think this is a little uh… mean?” Swerve glanced up at Ratchet, whose faceplates at this point were blazing. 

“Well, yes.” Rewind said in a tone that indicated that was the whole point. Ratchet looked at him with a frown. “Sorry Ratchet, but you have been getting a bit out of control, haven’t you? I mean, you even turned your temper on Wheeljack. Wheeljack! He’s your best friend!”

“Yeah, I guess you did hit him with a wrench.” Swerve muttered, rubbing the back of his helm before going back to his energon goodies. “That was pretty uncalled for.” 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ratchet ex-vented harshly. “I know.” He admitted. “It wasn’t Wheeljack’s fault I was in a bad mood, but he just had to come bouncing in to tell me all about his newest invention! I was busy!” 

**“‘It’s not my business.’ Ratchet returned. ‘It’s enough for a mech to understand his own business, and not to interfere with other people’s. Mine occupies me constantly.’”** Optimus supplied helpfully from the recording. 

“He’s right, you know.” Rewind said. “You do work a lot. And right now, it’s Christmas. Don’t you think you ought to take a bit of a break?” 

“I’ll take a break when there’s no one left to fix. So long as there are people like Sideswipe and Sunstreaker on board the Ark, so long as Huffer and Cliffjumper exist in the same place as they do, so long as there are still Decepticons, so long as there are Dinobots and so long as there is Wheeljack to make things explode, my work will never be done.” Ratchet countered in a testy tone. “Also, I don’t celebrate Christmas. It’s a human holiday and I’m not human.” 

“Hey, speaking of certain mechs with a proclivity for pyrotechnics, I wanna show you somethin’, Ratch.” Swerve said, pawing at Rewind with one hand. The two smaller mechs held a quiet conference behind Ratchet’s back, then Rewind turned to the wall and projected something different. 

It was still Cybertron, it was still snowing, but Ratchet was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t recognize the building they were outside of, but it appeared the top half of it had been demolished. It was run down and didn’t look like it was doing much to keep the obvious chill in the air from reaching the mechs within. 

The recording moved in through one of the windows of the building, showing Wheeljack, Perceptor and the Dinobots all smooshed into the same room and sitting around the same table. In the middle of the table was a single energon cube, and it appeared that the Dinobots were fighting over it, jostling one another’s large frames in an effort to be the first to get to it.

“What is this?” Ratchet asked in irritation. 

“This is Wheeljack’s house!” Swerve said, and Rewind queued up what sounded like a human audience cheering and clapping. “This is where he lives with his family.” 

“Wheeljack doesn’t have a house.” Ratchet said, exasperated. 

“Sure he does, it’s right there.” Swerve gestured, shaking his helm. “Anyway, I think this is really important for you to watch.” 

On the recording, Perceptor sidled around Slag, whom Wheeljack was hugging, and smiled fondly at the engineer. “And how did little Grimlock behave?” He asked, Wheeljack releasing his hold on Slag so that the triceratops could begin struggling with the other Dinobots for possession of the solitary energon cube.

“As good as gold! And better!” Wheeljack said happily, his optics turning up at the edges as he smiled. He slipped his arm around Perceptor and pulled the microscope close, the two of them turning to observe the table of rowdy Dinobots with genuine affection. 

Ratchet’s face adopted an expression of abject horror and Swerve couldn’t help snickering. 

“Somehow, he gets thoughtful, sittin’ by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard” Wheeljack said, pride in his words. “He told me, comin’ home, that he hoped people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember on Christmas day who it was that made lame leakers walk and blind mechs see.”

“Church?!” Ratchet burst out. “Wheeljack is an engineer, he doesn’t go to church! We don’t even have churches! And since when is Grimlock a cripple?!” 

Both minibots were staring at him as if he had spat a string of curses. Both of them, optics wide behind their visors, Swerve’s mouth hanging open, stared at Ratchet in disappointment and indignation. 

“How could you possibly know so little about Wheeljack?! Or his family?!” Rewind demanded.

“He’s your best friend!” Swerve added. “And because of you losing your temper, Wheeljack’s too scared to bring Grimlock in to be fixed by you! Grimlock might die because of you!” 

“That’s… That’s not true!” To be honest, Ratchet wasn’t sure if it was true or not. Things were rather confusing right now, and he could feel condensation beading on his forehead due to his increasing mortification. 

“I wish we had more to offer them.” Perceptor said on the recording, looking up at Wheeljack. “Even if he did so well today, the other scientists say it doesn’t look good. They say this might be Grimlock’s last Christmas.” The microscope reached up and wiped at his optics, Wheeljack soothingly rubbing his back.

“Now now, dear spark, don’t cry.” Wheeljack urged, Ratchet raising his hand to his head and staring with optics wide in bewilderment. “This is a time for celebration. Let’s just thank Primus we have this chance for all of us to be together. Now, the energon’s ready, why don’t we all sit down and share it together?” 

This made a cry of joy (and possibly territorial greed) rise from the Dinobots. 

“Me Slag get first bite!” Slag growled, snorting fire from his nostrils. 

“No, me Swoop goes first!” The flying Dinobot was perched on Snarl’s back, nestled among his brother’s back plates. 

“Now children, everyone will get some, you all just be patient. I think Grimlock ought to get the first portion.” Perceptor said, the leader of the Dinobots drawing himself up proudly. He was holding a tiny Y-shaped crutch in one of his short arms that was unlikely to help him in the slightest with whatever physical ailment he had, and he snorted smugly at the other Dinobots as he limped a little closer to the table. 

“Yeah, me Grimlock gets first portion!” He said, waving his crutch. 

“Here you are.” Perceptor ‘carved’ the energon cube, offering a small slice to the towering T-rex. “What do you say, Grimlock dear?” 

Having raised the energon to his jaws, Grimlock paused and looked at Perceptor with a grumbling sigh. “Me Grimlock say, til all are one!” He said. 

“Til all are one!” The rest of them chorused, the scene fading out as the Dinobots descended on the energon cube like Sharkticons. 

“See? They’re still managing to be happy even if they don’t have much to call their own.” Swerve said, gesturing to the projection as Rewind played another clip of clapping and cheering. “But imagine how much happier they’d be if they weren’t cowering in a dingy, beat up building… imagine if they didn’t have to go out of their way and pay so much for medical care from scientists instead of a proper medic like you.” 

“I highly doubt Wheeljack’s going to avoid me just because I lost my temper.” Ratchet said, rolling his optics. 

“Maybe. I mean, I guess you’re the only choice he really has as far as medical care goes. No one has any other choice but to go to you and brave your ire.” Swerve informed him, Ratchet scoffing. 

“I’m the CMO! I’m the best damn medic the Autobots have!” He said, Swerve raising shoulders and arms in a shrug. 

“Then maybe you ought to stop taking that for granted!” He stated, Ratchet reeling back and staring at him, affronted. “You’re a bully, Ratchet. Someday, people are gonna stop coming to you. What are you going to do if they’d rather die than come to you for help?” 

**“‘If they would rather die… they had better do it and decrease the surplus population.’”** Optimus said from the projection in his best Ratchet impression. 

“I would never say something like that!” Ratchet shouted, balling up his fists and fighting the urge to throw things. “I work hard to save all of my patients! I would never want them to die! They’re my friends, my allies!” 

“They’re also convenient targets for your wrench and your nasty words.” Swerve muttered.

“This is ridiculous.” Ratchet muttered, vents opening to allow hot air to escape from beneath his plates. 

“They have a point.” A new voice said from the other side of Rewind, Ratchet looking over to see another minibot, this one white and blue and completely unfamiliar. 

“Where’d you come from?” He asked gruffly. 

Looking a little hurt, the minibot leaned forward. “I’ve been here the whole time!” He protested. “Haven’t I?”

“Not that I’ve noticed.” Ratchet said in return. 

“Then that’s another thing that you might want to work on.” The new minibot said, moving to sit between Ratchet and Rewind. “You’ve got tunnel vision.” 

“I do not.” Ratchet protested. 

“Sure you do. You don’t see anything but your work. You claim you’ve got friends, but you hardly ever see them outside a professional capacity, and you’re not really that nice to them.” The minibot hugged his shapely legs to his chassis, tilting his helm to look up at Ratchet. 

“Who are you, anyway?” Ratchet muttered.

“I’m… I’m Tailgate.” The little minibot looked hurt again. Swerve and Rewind exchanged glances before looking away in discomfort. “But we’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to talk about you.” 

“How many more minibots are waiting around to tell me what a terrible person I am?” Ratchet asked, moving to get up but finding that his body didn’t want to respond to his attempts. “I don’t need this. I’m leaving.” 

“You can’t yet. The movie’s not over.” Tailgate said, gesturing to the images projecting onto the wall.

“I don’t care. This movie is awful.” 

“You have no idea.” Tailgate patted Rewind’s arm and the mini-cassette changed the scene from the snowy streets of Cybertron to what looked like Chicago, a city on Earth. 

Massive metal constructs that Ratchet figured were supposed to be Cybertronians were thundering through the streets, having a firefight while there were humans everywhere. 

A young human male, just a child, was running along with a cube cradled under one arm. The Cybertronian behemoths seemed to be protecting him… everything was exploding. 

“Get to the building, Sam!” Someone shouted, a mech that was mostly a sickly green color with the tell tale marks of a human emergency vehicle scattered over his frame. 

It took a few more minutes of explosions, near misses and harrowing chases before Ratchet realized that the green mech was supposed to be him. He must have been wearing an expression that clearly showed how he was feeling because Tailgate reached over and put a chubby little hand on his knee.

“I sense you’re a little distressed. Maybe we should change the channel-”

“What in the world is this slag?!” Ratchet burst out. “That is not me! That is not us! Optimus would never be so violent, especially not when there’s a human child practically underfoot! Why is everything exploding?!”

“Television and movies are all about gratuitous violence these days.” Swerve said, helping himself to the jellies that Rewind had brought out for them to share. 

“Look, why don’t we do something different?” Tailgate said as the image switched to the ugly green monstrosity being fired upon by humans. He was missing a leg and trying to escape, but ended up being knocked down by the relentless assault of the humans. 

Another mech, whom the green behemoth referred to as Lockdown, came up to the injured medic and demanded to know where Optimus was. 

The hideous green ‘Ratchet’ refused to tell and Lockdown proceeded to tear out his spark. 

Ratchet stared, a squeak escaping his intake. He felt ill. “What the frag?! Why are the humans attacking hi- attacking me?! What have I done to them to make them do this?”

“You were following orders.” Tailgate told him. “You were told by Optimus to run and to not trust the humans. You ran and you hid and eventually they found you. And look what happened when the others found out you were dead…” He pointed at the wall.

Ratchet watched as the Optimus from whatever parallel universe this was let out a snarl of rage and began destroying property and threatening to murder humans. It made his tanks lurch, the medic once again having to fight off a wave of nausea. 

“Optimus would never do this.” He said, shaking his head. “He would be saddened, yes, but he would never, ever threaten the lives of humans.” 

“Then there’s this.” Tailgate changed the channel with a remote he produced from somewhere. The projection now showed another version of Ratchet, this one seeming to be quite a bit older and surprisingly fat. 

‘I don’t sound like that, do I?’ Ratchet asked himself as he watched this other mech on the recording growling and snarling at his teammates. He couldn’t help cringing and flinching every time the other Ratchet raised a hand and struck Bumblebee or the mech named Bulkhead, or even that universe’s version of Optimus Prime. 

These minibots had a point. Maybe he was a little too rough with people. He just… he had a bad temper and no patience for stupidity. And the people around him had no respect for his work, no proper understanding of how important it was. How delicate. How time consuming.

They didn’t seem to have any clue how he felt when they turned around as soon as he had fixed them and got themselves slagged or reopened a wound because they were impatient. They didn’t seem to see how hard it was for him to see any of them get hurt in the first place. 

He wasn’t taking his position for granted, they were taking him for granted! 

All they ever did was complain complain complain that he was taking too long, or that they were hurting or sick or … 

This wasn’t making him feel any better. In fact, it was making Ratchet feel absolutely dreadful.

And this minibot, Tailgate, kept showing him other versions of himself that made him feel like he was looking in a mirror despite the other Ratchets looking nothing at all like him. 

“I don’t want this!” Ratchet said, putting a hand over his optics. “I don’t want to see anymore!” 

“I’m pretty sure the point has been made.” Rewind said, though Ratchet wasn’t sure if it was addressed to him or to one of the other minis in the room with them. 

“We’ve reached the point of the program where either our protagonist will undergo a change and learn the error of his ways, or he’ll turn around and go right back to grumping, having learned nothing at all.” Swerve said, and there was a nervous laugh track played from Rewind’s general vicinity. 

“The evidence we showed him was pretty damning. Ratchet will be Ratchet will be Ratchet.” Tailgate said, the medic lowering his hand from his optics and looking at the minibot. 

It was dark in the room now, the projection having stopped. The light from Ratchet’s optics washed over Tailgate, making the already pale minibot look washed out and eerie. 

“Well, what are you going to do now?” Tailgate asked, tilting his head to the side. “You’ve got a few choices.” 

“And what might those be?” Ratchet asked, frowning slightly. “Swerve made a few suggestions, but I’m not feeling a whole lot of change coming over me. Nor do I have the energy to ‘go right back to grumping.’”

“I think that’s just your default state. And you’re allowed to be grumpy. Being grumpy is fine… it’s the whole ‘taking your grumpiness out on your friends’ that we were trying to warn you away from. You saw it yourself-”

“I’m nothing like those other mechs!” Ratchet cried. 

“Then you’re going to need to prove it. Not to me, but to yourself.” Tailgate said, bringing something out of his subspace. “Are you ready? If you are, you’re going to need this.” 

“Ready for what?” Ratchet asked, then Tailgate brought one of his pale little servos up, jamming a needle into Ratchet’s neck cabling. Yelping in shock, Ratchet recoiled. 

“To wake up.” Tailgate said. “Wake up, Ratchet. Wake up! Wake up Ratchet!” 

Whatever was in the syringe was flooding through his systems, Ratchet trying to stagger to his feet but finding he only had the energy to fall onto his back on the floor. It felt cold and unyielding beneath him, and there was a great pressure in his limbs. 

There was a voice still shouting at him, but it wasn’t Tailgate’s. Ratchet fought through the haze that was surrounding him and tried to focus on the object that was swimming in his vision. 

“C’mon Ratch, you can do it! Wake up!” The voice pleaded, and the weight on his arms registered as hands and the voice registered as Wheeljack’s. 

“Don’t crowd him.” Soft and lilting, Skyfire’s voice broke through as well. “The nanites are working!”

“Thank the Matrix.” Perceptor sighed, Ratchet blinking the static from his optics and looking at the ring of faces above him. “Welcome back, Ratchet, you gave us quite a scare.” 

“I wouldn’t try moving just yet.” Beachcomber’s field soothed as much as his words did and Ratchet stopped pressing weakly against the hands on his chassis, sinking back against the slab he was laying on. “There’s a good mech. Just take it easy, Ratchet.” 

There was so much relief surrounding him. Ratchet let out a soft groan and reached up to rub at his neck. 

“Ah, sorry about that.” Wheeljack said, his hand closing over Ratchet’s. “We were havin’ a bit of a disagreement about the treatment we cooked up for ya.” 

“As in, we hadn’t properly tested it and weren’t entirely sure it wouldn’t cause you to explode once it was applied.” Perceptor said in a huffy tone. 

“Well, things really weren’t lookin’ too good and I was tired of waitin’!” Wheeljack protested. “We came close to losin’ ya, Ratch… I… I don’t know what I woulda done if you hadn’t made it.” 

“What are you talking about?” Ratchet growled, Wheeljack’s hand squeezing his own before withdrawing. 

“That illness that’s been making the rounds, it seems it struck you very hard.” Skyfire explained. “You had a terrible fever.”

“We still need to check that you didn’t suffer permanent processor damage!” Perceptor insisted. 

“A fever?” Ratchet croaked, his own field flooding with relief as he collapsed back against the berth and let out another groan. “A fever… It was just a fever dream. Just a dream.” 

He didn’t fight them off or try to get up. He let the scientists paw at him for a bit before tiring of their attentions and asking to be left alone so he could rest. 

He had never been so happy in his life. All of that terrible strangeness, just a dream. 

Ratchet shifted to try and get comfortable, his entire frame protesting even the slightest movement. He heard footsteps move towards him and looked over, seeing that Wheeljack had come back in.

The engineer’s optics were bright and tilted in Wheeljack’s version of a smile. “Sorry. I know you wanted to be alone, but I thought I’d sit with ya.” He said, dragging a stool to the side of the berth. 

“I’m sorry.” Ratchet said almost immediately, Wheeljack looking at him in surprise. “I’m so sorry, Wheeljack. I didn’t mean to hurt you before.” 

“Hurt-” Wheeljack leaned back, optics widening, then realization dawned on him. “Oh! The dent you gave me! Oh Ratchet, don’t worry about that at all, it got banged out no problem and I didn’t suffer from it. You don’t have to apologize.” 

“Yes I do.” Ratchet grumbled. “It was uncalled for. It wasn’t your fault I was in a bad mood.” 

“Yeah, those nanites you were working on… thank goodness you didn’t just throw ‘em away! Sky and I put ‘em to good use and cooked up a successful batch after a few bumps and failures.” Wheeljack said, ex-venting in relief. “Now that we know they work, we’ll administer ‘em to the rest of the crew. We just wanted to make sure you got dosed first.” 

“Mine was worse than the others?” Ratchet asked, Wheeljack nodding at him. 

“You’ve been workin’ too hard, Ratch.” He said gently. “Your systems weren’t primed for fightin’ off any sort of virus, and your lack of proper recharge only made things worse. That little bug got in ya and wreaked all sorts of havoc. I’m just glad you’re alright.” 

Ratchet wanted to say ‘Oh don’t give me that,’ but he held his glossa. Wheeljack seemed genuinely concerned and was happy enough to see him to stay despite Ratchet asking everyone to leave.

“Seems I got plenty of rest while I was feverish.” He said, Wheeljack chuckling.

“You’d think that, for sure, but you didn’t even rest when your processor was burnin’ up and you couldn’t manage to come online properly.” Flashing jovially at Ratchet, Wheeljack leaned back on his stool. “You were kickin’ and fussin’ the whole time. Not to mention, there was some pretty spectacular purging involved.” 

“Doesn’t seem surprising.” Ratchet muttered, dragging a hand down his face. He felt exhausted. 

“Do you mind if I stay here with ya?” Wheeljack asked in a soft voice, reaching over to put his hand on Ratchet’s. “I just wanna make sure you’re really okay. I’ll keep an optic on ya while you’re rechargin’. I’ll wake you if somethin’ happens.” 

So much support. So much love. Ratchet didn’t feel right now that he deserved it, especially not from Wheeljack. 

“We were all worried, Ratchet. So you rest up, get better. We’ll take care of things while you’re waitin’ to get back on your feet.” Wheeljack said cheerfully. “I don’t want you to worry about it.”

Grunting in reply, Ratchet rubbed his face again. “You were all worried, even if I’ve been a rude bastard to all of you?” He asked, Wheeljack blinking at him. “Yelling and throwing things and… and hitting you.” 

“You gotta stop beatin’ yourself up about that, Ratch. We know we drive you crazy. You work harder than most of the rest of us, except maybe Prowl and Optimus!” Wheeljack insisted. “Some of us just forget when we’re excited about other things, that’s all. We don’t mean to bother you… and we’re sorry that we make you lose your temper.” 

Letting out a weak laugh, Ratchet shook his head. “I can see us going around in circles with this so I’m just going to recharge and stop it before it starts.” He said in a hoarse voice. 

“Yeah.” Wheeljack said in a sheepish voice. “You’re probably right about that. I’ll be here, Ratch… just get some rest.”


End file.
